Fight Club (h.s.)

Part 4

Curled on the chair in my room, I read as John Mayer is playing through my room. I write notes and a knock on the door sounds, my hands shifting my homework to the floor.

As I answer the door, I immediately feel small again.

"It's a Saturday and you're staying inside to do homework," Harry says, leaning his arm against my door.

I nod, not knowing what to say.

"You should come with me to get some food," he says, my eyes observing his face.

"Your face...it's pretty healed," I say, ignoring his attempt at a date.

"Yeah, I, uh, iced it. Like you said," he says, my lips curving. He smiles and pushes off the door frame, shoving his hands in his pockets.

"Would you want to get something to eat with me?" he asks, my shoulders shrugging.

"Come on," he says, grabbing my arm and tugging me out. I laugh, holding up a forefinger as I grab my shoes. Once on, I close the dorm and lock it. We walk side by side, his body huge compared to mine.

"Do you like Chinese?" he asks, my head nodding. I feel startled when his hand comes to my hair, tugging the band out. My brown hair falls around my face and I look up at him, his eyes looking me over.

"I like your hair down," he says, moving the band into my hand.

Speechless, I fumble with the rubber band and move it into my pocket. He grabs my hand quickly and I can see the stares of the people around us. I feel incredibly small; Harry not bothering with any of them.

He tugs me into the restaurant, sitting at a table with me across from him. I feel his eyes on me while I look at the menu and it soon disappears from my vision, my lips parting as I look up at him.

"I want to talk with you," he says, my lips pressing together as I swallow.

"Why are you so afraid to talk to me?"

My fingers fumble together, not exactly wanting him to know what had happened in my younger years. The drunk shouting, the pain from my father a painful reminder I don't want to remember.

"My dad...wasn't a great man," I say, his lips pressing into a line as he crosses his arms over the table. His eyes are intently on me and his eyebrows move to nearly touch together.

"I guess, no male influence. I don't trust easily," I say, his head nodding.

"You don't have to be afraid of me. You don't annoy the shit out of me like the rest of the female population," he says, causing a laugh to escape my lips.

"Thanks," I shyly smile, his lips curving.

The waitress comes and asks for our order, Harry ordering shrimp fried rice and egg rolls for the two of us.

"Can I... ask you a question?" I ask, his expression almost eager.

"Yeah," he says, looking at me.

"Why do you fight?" I whisper, his jaw clenching.

"It's a long story," he nearly grits, my eyes looking into his. I watch him have an internal fight with himself, before his pink lips part.

"I have anger issues. I joined fight club because I didn't know what else to do with myself. Those nights where I'd have relations with girls were practically emotionless sex that I let all frustration out. I stopped doing that after girls would come to me for what they want. It was about me, shitty, I know, but that's what I thought. So fight club was my way out. My demeanor is what makes everyone fear me; I saw it in your eyes when you ran into me. But you're different than other girls. I can't figure you out," he says, my eyes fluttering as I look away from him.